<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Geas by KatWylder</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28056678">Geas</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatWylder/pseuds/KatWylder'>KatWylder</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Halo (Video Games) &amp; Related Fandoms</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, One-Shot, Pre-Relationship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 15:41:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>499</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28056678</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatWylder/pseuds/KatWylder</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The Librarian gave him a gift. Right now, it feels like a curse.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>John-117 | Master Chief/Thomas Lasky</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>41</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Geas</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>  He was swimming. He was treading water. He was drowning.</p><p>  His bones ached and his lungs burned, too big now for his body. His blood had become molten lead, and the sweat pouring off his skin did nothing to cool him. Everything was too bright, too loud, too big, too close. It was the augmentations all over again, multiplied one hundredfold.</p><p>  His head felt like it had been emptied and replaced with the contents of a low-grade liquor cabinet. The quicksilver voice that had held him together for so long was gone, replaced with a silence that threatened to strangle him.</p><p>  Something cool and soft pressed against his forehead suddenly, and he leaned into it.</p><p>  “Damn,” a familiar voice murmured, while the damp cloth moved across his head and neck in careful strokes.</p><p>  Struggling back up to the edge of consciousness, John cracked his eyes open. A familiar face with brown eyes slowly resolved in his vision, and a sturdy hand brushed against his. John clutched it in his own. He knew where he was, now. <em>When</em> he was.</p><p>  It was July… something. He was onboard the <em>Infinity</em>, in the captain’s quarters, laid out on the man’s couch like a dying stag. Maybe he <em>was</em> dying. The medics hadn’t known what to do with him.</p><p>  “Can you…” he began in a hoarse whisper, his voice like rusty nails in his throat. “Keep talking?”</p><p>  There was a pause. It might have been seconds, might have been days. John hated the silence. Most of all, he hated how empty it made him feel.</p><p>  “Sure,” Lasky replied softly. His voice was the only sound that didn’t feel like an assault on John’s senses. “I can do that.”</p><p>  Vaguely, he was aware of the captain’s presence moving, though Lasky’s hand remained in his. He clung to it.</p><p>  “Anything you wanna hear?”</p><p>  “Th… the Banshee,” John managed. “You flew a Banshee.”</p><p>  There was a soft chuckle from the captain. “I told you about that twice, already. Aren’t you aren’t sick of that story?”</p><p>  “I don’t… Remind me? Please.”</p><p>  His eyes fell shut against his will and he began to sink back down into the darkness. He was coming apart at the seams. He wasn’t even human, anymore—he’d overheard the doctors whispering as much, when they thought he couldn’t hear. A shudder wracked his burning, freezing body. He was just an aging Spartan. A machine that had outlasted its usefulness.</p><p>  There was a gentle brush of fingers over his scalp, and the captain’s voice returned, cashmere-soft and cool.</p><p>  “Hey. Stay with me, Chief.”</p><p>  The cold cloth returned, and he leaned into it as the captain began to speak again. The words fell apart the moment they reached his ears, disintegrating into pure sound devoid of meaning. But the sound was a tether to the present as waves of pain and delirium beat against him. His voice had given out, but he replied with a soft squeeze of Lasky’s hand.</p><p>  He didn’t dare let go.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>